Touch
by alatariel-gildaen
Summary: One night at the prison, Carol discovers Daryl's deepest, darkest secret. Pure fluff. Set early in season 3. Caryl. Canon compliant.


Carol looked up to the perch and could see Daryl lying down on his makeshift bed. Smiling to herself, she shook her head slightly at Daryl's refusal to sleep in a proper bed when there were so many available, but she wouldn't press the matter. If Daryl was uncomfortable sleeping in—as he described it—a cage, then who was she to try and convince him otherwise?

She mounted the stairs and crouched down beside him, placing a bowl of rabbit stew next to his bed.

"You didn't come to dinner," said Carol. "And seeing as you provided most of it, I thought I'd bring you some."

"Thanks," he said. He sat upright and reached for the bowl, and Carol couldn't help but notice that he winced as he did so.

"You ok?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," he said, taking a huge mouthful of stew. "Better now."

But the slight grimace he gave each time he moved his right arm said otherwise.

"You were working really hard on the fences today," she said in an off-hand manner.

"Yeah," he replied thickly through the mouthful of stew. "Damn bastards built up pretty heavy overnight. It's fixed but we gotta get more shifts workin' on keepin' it clear."

"Hmmm," she nodded. "Good plan. I wouldn't want anyone to hurt themselves fixing fences, not when prevention is much better than a cure." She gave him a pointed look, the slightest of smiles uplifting the corners of her mouth.

He held her gaze for a long moment before returning his attention to his stew. "Somethin' like that," he said.

"But speaking of cures," she continued, "That shoulder massage you gave me really helped me. Want me to return the favour?"

The slightest of flushes coloured his cheeks, and he became even more interested in the bottom of his bowl. "Naw, you don't gotta do that," he said, shovelling an overly large spoonful of stew into his mouth. The look of pain crossing his face at the sudden movement was unmistakeable.

"I want to," she said. "If you'll allow it."

He gently lowered the empty bowl of stew down beside him, and watched her for a few moments as if trying to work out if she had some kind of ulterior motive. "Alright, then," he said, nodding briefly.

Carol knelt down behind him, and she could see him tense very slightly. "Relax," she said soothingly as she placed her hands on his shoulders. He flinched a little at the contact. "You sure this is ok?"

He grunted a vague affirmation, but stayed tense under her touch. She recalled the brief flash of the scars she had seen covering his back, the day he had impaled himself on his own arrow and been shot by Andrea, and it occurred to her that he was probably not used to being touched without anger or violence. She made a mental note to keep her touch as light as possible and make no sudden movements to startle him.

Very slowly, she started to trace small circles over his shoulders with her thumbs, using the smallest amount of pressure. Almost immediately he drew in a sharp intake of breath, and Carol let go. "I'm sorry," she said. "Did I hurt you?"

"Naw," he mumbled. "I didn't mean—"

"I'll stop if you prefer?"

"Naw, don't stop," he said, looking back over his shoulder at her. "It aint… don't stop."

He rolled his shoulders a few times then let out a deep breath and dropped his head, just as Carol placed her hands back on his shoulders. Once again, she used her thumbs to rub tight, tender circles over the taut muscles, and Daryl was as tense as ever.

"You can… you can go harder…" he said through gritted teeth. "S'ok."

"Are you sure?" she said. "I really don't want to hurt you."

"Y'aint hurtin' me," he said, and as she stroked down the broad expanse of his back, he gave another involuntary move under her touch. But it didn't appear to be a flinch…No... unless she was very much mistaken, Daryl Dixon was squirming under her ministrations.

"Are you…are you ticklish?" she asked, unable to hide the grin on her own face.

"Naw," he answered a little too quickly and a little too forcefully.

"Ok," she smirked, entirely unconvinced, and she continued rubbing gentle circles over his shoulder. He was still incredibly tense under her attentions and she increased the pressure, pleased when he finally began to relax.

He dropped his head once again, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "Feels good," he murmured.

Carol smiled to herself as she massaged him. She completely agreed with him. It felt good touching him. It felt _right._ Much like the massage he had given her had felt right. She hadn't really wanted that to end, and if she was honest with herself, she didn't really want this to end either, and so when he stretched and said that it felt much better, she couldn't help but feel vaguely disappointed that it was over so soon.

Her hand gently trailed the length of his back, and he could not hide the slight snort that escaped him.

"You _are_ ticklish," she said, and there was no way for her to conceal the amusement in her voice.

"I aint," he said.

"Really?" she said. "So you wouldn't mind if I do this?"

With a feather-light touch she quickly ran her fingers down the side of his torso, delighting in the surprised squeal and sudden squirm away from her.

"I thought you said you weren't ticklish?" she said, and she prodded her fingertips into the crease of his armpits, causing him to shriek involuntarily as his arms snapped tight to his side.

"Stop that!" he implored her, but the sight of him writhing away under her touch was just too damn funny.

"Stop what?" she said, as she wrapped her arms around him and moved her fingers to tickle across his belly. "If you're not ticklish, this shouldn't be a problem, right?"

"Aint…fair…" he gasped. "Ya gotta…." But he clearly couldn't contain his mirth any longer, and he rolled back against her, howling with laughter, and desperately trying—and failing—to swat her hands away. "Please…" he begged. "Aint…fair…"

"You want me to give you a shot at retaliation?" she laughed, easing up on him. "Go ahead. You're right. It's only fair."

Panting, Daryl sat up straight and narrowed his eyes at her. "This some kinda trick?" he said.

Carol held his gaze for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I guess so," she said. "Because when I say I'm not ticklish, unlike you, I'm not lying."

He awkwardly reached his hand out towards her, hovering in mid-air for a second or two as if trying to work up the courage to actually touch her, before he reached for her side and tickled. Carol laughed even further at the look of disappointment on his face.

"Shit," he muttered.

"I'm sorry," she laughed. "Never have been. It's one of my greatest strengths."

"Naw. You got a lot more strengths than just that," he replied, and the flush across his cheeks deepened, but he didn't break eye contact with her.

There was something intense in his look that made her breath catch in her throat as a myriad of possibilities opened up before her. She wanted to touch him again, but not teasingly, and not as a healer, but to show affection, to show that she liked touching him—dear _god_ she liked touching him—and to show him just how much he meant to her. Her fingertips edged towards his hand; it was barely an inch away from her, and her heart pounded hard in her throat as she screamed at herself to just reach for him. To just hold him. To lean in towards him and press her lips against his.

"Daryl?" called Rick from the bottom of the stairs, breaking the moment between them. "You're supposed to be on watch. Glenn said you were supposed to relieve him ten minutes ago."

"On my way," he called back. They both looked away from each other, embarrassed at what had just occurred, and at the thought of what could have occurred had they not been interrupted.

"Don't worry," Carol said lightly, trying to dispel the awkward atmosphere between them, as Daryl grabbed his poncho and pulled it over his head. "No one needs to know that the prison's biggest badass is ticklish. Your secret's safe with me."

"Damn well better be."

"I can't say I won't exploit it from time to time, but nobody else needs to know," she called after him as he walked down the stairs. He turned and held her gaze, then shook his head to himself as he walked off.

She flopped back on his makeshift bed, smiling widely. Yes. Knowing Daryl Dixon's biggest weakness was going to prove to be a lot of fun in future. And, if uninterrupted, who knew where it could lead?


End file.
